


stood and puffed your chest out like you never lost a war

by aiineslin



Series: and we all float on okay [2]
Category: Worst - 髙橋ヒロシ | Takahashi Hiroshi
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiineslin/pseuds/aiineslin
Summary: and just like that, life continues to move on.or, sakota makes a new friend.
Relationships: Sakota Takefumi/Muroto Koumei
Series: and we all float on okay [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596856
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	stood and puffed your chest out like you never lost a war

**Author's Note:**

> again, more self indulgent bullshit  
> this has been in my drafts since forever  
> like  
> years and years of forever  
> i first read worst all the way back in 2008? 2007? and i loved it then  
> still do now  
> also pls if u like worst talk to me  
> oh and english isnt my first language so im sorry if stuff sounds kinda wonky

Time passes quickly, and just like that, Sakota graduates from Suzuran.

His days are not constrained to cramped, graffitied classrooms and tables that would never balance right (not that he went to school on a regular basis, anyways) – no, he flies free now, a crow jettisoned out into the fast-moving river of society.

For a few months, he muddles along, taking on temp jobs from various agencies. He sees Renji, Takumi and Tora every once in a while, – Hana has went back to wherever he came from, leaving behind a promise that they will meet up again in the future.

Life is lukewarm, unsurprising. Toarushi is a small town. The faces do not change. People leave, people come – the most that happens is that new faces fill out the ranks of Suzuran. (He hears rumours that a tough foreigner has come to Suzuran, and for a moment, Sakota feels the old competitiveness in him rear its head.)

One day – like all other days – he is sitting on a shitty plastic chair, playing a mindless game on his phone, killing time in the waiting room of the temp agency he finds himself so often in. The recruiter appears in a flurry of cheap cologne and a badly knotted tie, a clipboard held in front of him like a shield.

“You’re going to have to work with a partner on this job,” says the recruiter and Sakota’s eyes narrow.

Most of the temp agencies don’t put him with partners; Suzuran graduates tended to be put in single-man jobs.

“Okay,” says Sakota. It could be nice to make a new friend.

“And there he is,” the recruiter says. “You’re early.” He jerks a thumb towards the doorway behind Sakota, and Sakota feels movement behind him, and he turns – and he looks into a pair of far too familiar eyes.

“You,” says Sakota.

“ _You_ ,” snaps Koumei.

“I take it,” says the supervisor, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “That no introductions are necessary.”

*

Koumei drives like an old woman.

He drives like an old woman who has undergone cataract-removal surgery and has just been told she only has nine months left to live.

Koumei runs another red light.

Scratch that, six months.

Sakota is gripping the sides of his seat, and he is saying – no, _yelling_ prayers.

He is positive he hears Koumei cackle when he takes a too-tight turn around a corner, spinning the wheel as if he was some fucking character from a racing movie.

*

The job goes… well.

Koumei works with brusque efficiency, slapping on coats of paint like he was born to do it.

He is unerringly, weirdly neat – compared to Sakota, who managed to get paint on his nose, in his hair and somehow or other – on the back of his left knee.

They finish the job two hours ahead of their contracted time, and as one, without further discussion – they decide to leave the house separately, studiously ignoring the other.

*

“I _hate_ Koumei,” Sakota declares viciously as he brings his beer can down with a resounding thump on the table. “Of all the people to run into, I run into his smarmy fucking ass -”

Yaita says brightly around his toothpick, “Wanna come work with me then? You definitely won’t run into Koumei there since I don’t make a habit of hiring shitstains.”

“Fuck no,” snaps Sakota. “Do I look like I want to be a mushroom farmer.”

“It’s a living,” bellows Yaita, and the night derails from there into a progressively drunken argument about the merits of mushroom farming versus common blue-collar labour.

*

There are so little jobs in town, and it is inevitable that they run into each other once, twice, thrice – and by the fourth time, Sakota has resigned himself to seeing Koumei’s face on a regular basis. It doesn’t help that the temp agencies got wind of their familiarity with each other – and it _really_ doesn’t help that both were completely unafraid of the other.

Suzuran graduates tended to be put on one-man jobs. Turns out that people like Koumei were usually relegated to one-man jobs too. Until fate – or some very conniving recruiters – decided to put them together.

It is a partnership that works too. Somehow, their presence spurred each other on to work harder, faster and more accurately on their jobs – probably because they wanted to complete their assignments in the shortest possible time to avoid prolonging contact with each other. 

“I think both of you make wonderful working partners,” declares sweet old lady Kabae, who is so nice, so grandmotherly and so dense that it is quite difficult to be angry at her. “It’s so nice to see that both of you are able to harness your competitiveness so well!”

She shuts the office door in their faces, and abruptly, both drop their polite masks to glower at each other.

Koumei squeezes out a grunt, his version of a goodbye. He turns his back on Sakota and makes a beeline towards the door. (Sakota marvels at this, four months ago, Koumei would have left without a farewell, grunt or not. It is this that solidifies his decision.)

“Hey Koumei,” calls Sakota.

“What,” Koumei head whips around, his shoulders stiffening.

“Wanna go out for a drink,” Sakota says (because he knows that Koumei would never, ever back down and show his belly so he, Sakota Takefumi will have to be the magnanimous adult here).

It only takes a beat for Koumei to turn on his heel and pace back to Sakota. “Sure. But you’re paying.”

 _(My god,_ Sakota thinks as he boards the train with Koumei, both of them stiffly ignoring each other. _Renji and Tora would be so proud of me. I’m becoming an adult._ )

*

As one, they tacitly agree to order a bucket of beer.

Sakota orders chicken ramen and Koumei gets pork katsudon, and both of them agree to share a plate of yakitori and okonomiyaki together. For the first fifteen minutes, they wait for their meals in silence, staring down at their phones.

(Sakota thanks whoever was smart enough to invent the Internet and a smartphone multiple times in that span of time.)

It is Koumei who breaks the silence.

“Which agencies are you going to nowadays?”

“Probably the same as you,” replies Sakota, caught slightly off-guard. “Kabae-san is the most reliable recruiter I’ve encountered so far though.”

It’s a moot question, because there are only so many agencies in town and between the two of them, Sakota’s pretty sure he and Koumei had resumes in all of them.

“Yeah,” grunts Koumei. He stares at his phone. There is a spiderweb of cracks across the top half of the screen. “Jobs are hard to come by these days. Are you stealing my gigs?”

Sakota is about to say something sardonic when he realises Koumei is trying to make a joke, unfunny as it is – and so Sakota laughs, uncomfortably. He snaps his mouth shut after a few painful seconds.

“I ain’t, man. The economy is just bad these days.”

“Yeah, I know.” Koumei leans back on the chair and watches Sakota. “Honestly, sometimes I think there’s no point in living.” He picks at his okonomiyaki, pulling apart the bonito flakes. “It’s just one shitty job after another. You work, you go home, jack off and you do the same thing all over again.”

“Aren’t you best pals with Amachi,” says Sakota, after a protracted silence whereby he considers Koumei’s words, considers telling him to lighten up and then acknowledges the fact that, yeah – life is pretty fucking shit if you don’t have qualifications or connections.“Can’t you go talk to him for a job?”

“Nah,” says Koumei. He stares into the black mouth of his beer can. “I know what kind of jobs his old man asks people like me to do.”

Sakota nods and he looks up at the yellow ceiling – because really, what does one say to that?

*

They reach an understanding after that.

It is easier to be kinder, more polite to Koumei.

After the conversation, Koumei starts to text him gigs that would need partners. They settle into an easy routine, and for a while, their messages were simple back and forths, comprised solely of work. Life finds a way though, and it slips in quietly, and amidst their messages, there are small jokes made here and there, and sometimes, they go out for dinners together. They talk shit about their recruiters, their employers, whatever partners that were unlucky enough to get put on the same gig as them. It turns out that both of them like Japanese wrestling and old-school anime, and once, they even go to a match together.

It’s nice, really, to have someone to talk to.

A month, two months slip by quietly. 

One hot summer day, Sakota is sprawled out on the floor of his house, staring up at the ceiling. There are cicadas chirping monotonously outside the window, and a ray of light lances through the window, crossing his face in a bar of pure, utter, annoyance.

He doesn’t know what compels him to, but he reaches out with a hand, flops it around until it connects with his phone. He pulls up the conversation that rests near at the top of his various chats.

[4:44 PM, 12/07/2019] kishidinosaur: you wanna go see the beach

[4:44 PM, 12/07/2019] mutts: What are you, sixteen?

The reply is fast and irritable and Sakota can feel his temper flaring to life. Another text follows hard on the heels of the first.

[4:44 PM, 12/07/2019] mutts: Let’s go to Okinawa

[4:45 PM, 12/07/2019] kishidinosaur: the fuck? that’s far

[4:45 PM, 12/07/2019] mutts: My bro is in Okinawa now. We can stay at his place.

[4:46 PM, 12/07/2019] kishidinosaur: fuck no

[4:46 PM, 12/07/2019] kishidinosaur: he’s staying in a shithole, isn’t he

A few minutes, half an hour, four hours pass by without a reply.

Against the entirety of his pride yelling at him ( _SAKOTA TAKEFUMI DOES NOT FUCKING DOUBLE-TEXT_ ), Sakota fires off another message to Koumei after work.

[8:01 PM, 12/07/2019] kishidinosaur: ok but it’s better than paying money to stay in a hotel I guess

His phone lights up mere seconds later.

[8:01 PM, 12/207/2019] mutts: Ok. I’m looking up flight deals now 

*

It turns out that Koumei is really fucking good at spotting a good deal.

“Oh my god,” Sakota kept saying to Tora. Tora is insanely busy nowadays; between his work at the hamburger stall and his side-hustle at the bowling alley, the only times Sakota have been able to catch Tora was when he visits Tora's workplaces. “He found this 50% off flight to Okinawa. How the fuck does he do that?” He waves the confirmation e-mail at Tora. “I’ve never managed to do that in my entire life. What the fuck.”

Tora tilts his head and squints at him. “You’ve been going on and on about this trip to Okinawa with Koumei a lot, haven’t you.”

“Yeah, it’s my first trip to Okinawa,” Sakota snaps back. He chews on the side of his cheek. “It would’ve been nice if I could have gone with you guys.”

Tora sighs. A cheer goes up from the other aisle, where some dude had scored a strike.

“When Hana comes back from the mountains. Someday. Maybe?”

“Yeah.” Sakota picks at his hangnail. “Maybe.”

*

Okinawa is hot as fuck.

Zenmei, as predicted, lives in a dump. The flat is small, cramped and has poor air ventilation. When Koumei unlocks the door, the first thing Sakota smells is unwashed clothes and something mouldy.

“God,” mutters Koumei when he tracks the smell down to a sad little pile of soggy teabags in a Tupperware box balanced on the edge of the overflowing sink. There are multiple flies buzzing around it. “I told him to change out the teabags every so often."

“What are they for?” Sakota hovers at the door, his voice a mixture of horror and curiosity.

“They, uh, kinda get rid of bad smells. Not when you leave them so long flies start breeding in them though…” Koumei’s voice fades out as he throws the teabags into the dustbin.

“And how did you find out about that?”

“An auntie at my old job told me.” Koumei takes in the kitchen, chewing at his bottom lip. “I’m going to put my bags down. Then, uh.” He waves a hand, encompassing the entire flat. “You gotta help me out with this.”

“ _That’s_ the deal, yup,” Sakota agrees. He eyes the dishes. There is a horrible crust on one of the visible bowls. The first pang of regret is beginning to hit. “Oh well. At least I’ve had practice.”

*

They take the better part of the day to clean up Zenmei’s flat. “What is _wrong_ with your brother, holy fuck,” was the oft-used phrase in those few hours, and for once, Koumei doesn’t defend his brother. 

In fact, they work so long that when Zenmei comes home, it’s 8:30PM and he has noodles, gyoza and fried chicken stuffed into two huge plastic takeaway bags.

“Oh my fucking god,” Sakota says when he takes in the sight. “Thank fuck.”

“You’re a real rude fucker, aren’t you,” Zenmei says to Sakota as he kicks off his shoes. He looks at Koumei. “Isn’t he one of those Suzuran goons? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Hey man, I just spent the whole day -”

“Uh, yeah. That’s Sakota. I mentioned him. Sakota, you know my brother, Zenmei.” Koumei pulls off his cleaning gloves and throws them into the kitchen sink. He is sweating, and his hair had come out of its slicked-back neatness, little strands curling themselves over his forehead.

“Thanks for putting us up,” Sakota says, and he bites back the words _in this fucking dump_ – (Renji and Tora are going to be so proud of him. Really.)

Zenmei looks him over, darts a glance at Koumei – and even though Sakota is an only child, he’s had _brothers_ and he recognises that some unspoken communication flickers between the two in the matter of seconds –

(Because really, if you think about it, Koumei definitely had to tell Zenmei just who he was bringing, and Zenmei definitely still remembers Hanagumi members from those months of war and honestly – Zenmei must love Koumei, because if Sakota remembers correctly, Zenmei got fucked up _real bad_ \- )

“Yeah.” Zenmei grunts, sets the takeaway bags down. “It’s no issue. My little bro asked.” He looks at his sparkling clean apartment. “Thanks for cleaning.” The words leave him very grudgingly, and Sakota can see some tension ease out of Koumei’s shoulders.

“I’ll get the bowls and chopsticks,” Koumei says. “What’s on the TV tonight?”

“TV?” Zenmei snorts. “Little bro, I’ve got myself a smart TV. We gonna be _Netflixing_ tonight, baby.”

*

Their first day in Okinawa was spent being cleaners, but their subsequent days were really fucking _fun_.

It turns out that Koumei is also good at planning an itinerary.

The Line Chat that Sakota has with Koumei has a pinned note, and in it, Koumei writes down a rough outline of what they are supposed to do throughout the day. He has the screenshots of map routes saved into a photo album folder and a separate email folder where he saves the confirmations of all their pre-booked tickets to various touristy sites. It is all very well thought-out, very well-planned, and Sakota is extremely impressed.

(Sakota can’t help but rib him a little, “Did you use to do this for Amachi? Plot out the fastest route for the Scorpions to hit and get out?”

And Koumei, with utmost seriousness, opens the group chat he has with Amachi and the rest of the gang – there are multiple albums containing various screenshots of map routes, bus and train timings – all labelled by date and location and attack. “I couldn’t bear to delete them,” he says. “It’s a lot of work.”)

It’s dumb and it’s touristy and Zenmei complains about them not going to see the _real Okinawa_ , but Koumei shuts him down with a pointed, “You’re not even from Okinawa, bro.”

Hand on his heart, swear to whatever deity that’s listening in – Sakota will say his time spent with Koumei ranks in the top five happiest moments of his life.

Sakota visits Shuri Castle, he sees a whale shark swimming peacefully behind glass, and he eats his weight in good food.

(There is a moment which he remembers – his face is tilted upwards, watching the whale shark swim ponderously overhead – when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. He had turned his head to look, to see Koumei putting down his phone, looking – embarrassed?

“Do I look dumb,” Sakota demands, starting towards Koumei.

“You always look dumb,” retorts Koumei.

But he lets Sakota see the picture – and it actually is quite a nice picture, really – his face is dappled in the blue and white lights of the aquarium, and there is a look of unguardedly childish wonder on his face, and for a moment, Sakota contemplates deleting it – but Koumei must have seen the thought cross his face, because the man pulls his phone back.

“You ain’t fucking deleting this.”

“Nah, nah. Can you send me this?”

“Oh,” Koumei says, a little non-plussed. Then he adds, “I’ll put it in the travel album.”)

On the second last day, Koumei says, “Let’s go to Akajima.”

And of course, Sakota says fuck yeah – because honestly? Up till now, Koumei hasn’t led him wrong.

*

Of course, Koumei has everything planned out. There is a room waiting for them at a cheap hotel, and they take the Ferry Zamami to the island from Tomari Port. The wind is brisk on that day, sharp and nippy and the sun is as always, high. Sakota feels the light burn away some of the fatigue he has accumulated over the days – one _can_ get tired of pacing around various touristy sites, queuing up behind large families and irate, bored children.

His gaze slip-slides from the burning blue sea to land on Koumei. The further away they are from Toarushi, the more Koumei relaxes. One week ago, Sakota could tell you that he has never seen Koumei wear slippers or ratty cargo shorts in the near half a year he has known him. But he is wearing that today, on the Ferry Zamami, one hand holding on to the railing, turned to face the incoming wind.

He can’t see where Koumei is looking at behind his sunglasses, but Sakota must have been caught staring – because Koumei says after a little while, “Is there something on my face?”

“Nah.”

*

Nishihama Beach is on another level of beauty.

After dropping off what little luggage they have at the hotel – essentially, a backpack containing a change of clothes – they had rented bicycles to ride to the beach, their sunscreen, alcohol and snacks rattling noisily in the bicycle basket.

The sea greets them, an expanse of blue; the beach which edges the land is the purest white Sakota has seen.

He can even forgive the multitudes of tourists that wade a little way out into the ocean, striking poses against the expanse.

“It looks like a photo,” he says to Koumei.

Sakota thinks he can stay here forever, with the sand between his toes and the sun in his eyes.

*

It’s easy enough to make the hours stretch out into a full day.

They spend it lolling around on the sand on their picnic mat, locking down a spot near a copse of trees. When they are hungry, one of them runs to the nearby convenience store, loads up on processed snacks and comes back. They wade out into the sea, snark about tourists, smoke, and even nap for a little while - and just like that, a day passes by.

As one, they agree without words that they should watch the sun go down. They watch the sky transform into shades of pink and orange and gold, darkening to a deep blue spotted with small stars. The moon comes out from behind the clouds, a slim crescent of pale silver.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” says Koumei. Most of the tourists have gone by then, and there is only the sea and her waves and the ever-present wind, and his soft voice is loud in the near-silence.

“Yeah, me too.”

“It’s hard in Toarushi,” Koumei continues. He seems about to say more, and then he swallows his words back down.

Sakota looks at him, really looks at him – his carefully maintained dye job, artfully combed hair, proud as a fucking rooster with his neatly kept beard and Sakota says, “It’s okay to relax, ya know.”

“Fuck,” says Koumei. “Fuck you.”

There is an ocean of unsaid, unknown history behind the words – fear of being looked down on, fear of going without coin – Koumei wears branded goods, he would rather go hungry than be seen as someone without _means_.

“I mean it,” says Sakota quietly. “It’s okay to relax with me.”

Koumei’s head falls against his chest, and he stares out into the darkness of the ocean and he says, “You don’t get it.”

“Nah. Not really. But I meant what I said. It’s okay to relax with me.”

“Okay,” says Koumei, and he turns to Sakota. In the darkness, under the pale light cast by the moon, Sakota can barely make out his face. He can see the gleam of Koumei’s teeth, and Koumei is close, much too close and Sakota feels teeth click hard against his own. 

“Fuck,” says Sakota, more out of reflex than anything, and Koumei yanks his head back as if burnt.

“No, no,” Sakota says, and he reaches out, catches Koumei’s arm and he feels a jolt springing up his fingers. This is getting really, fucking embarrassing. Koumei is tense, and Sakota hauls him back, and they collapse into each other in an ungainly heap. “Come back.”

“Oh,” says Koumei.

They don’t say much after that.

Sakota doesn’t have much practice with kissing – girls really didn’t go for Suzuran guys, especially big dudes with nasty scars – but he more than makes up for it in enthusiasm.

*

They walk back to the hotel; Sakota’s arm slung around Koumei’s shoulders like it has always belonged there, it feels _right_. They take the elevator to their room holding hands, their fingers twined tightly around each other. It is too much of a hassle to shower – there are better things to do, and they stumble to the bed which sits close to the window, letting pale moonlight in. 

And even though the bed is honestly too small for two big dudes in a hot Okinawan summer, it’s actually weirdly nice to be cosied up to another human being.

(It’s been a long, long time since Sakota has properly touched another human and he appreciates this. He really does.)

Koumei’s beard scratches against his cheeks one too many times and he lets out a small grumble. Koumei tilts his head back and in the dim light, Sakota can see the glint of a smile.

“Maybe I should shave,” says Koumei. His hands are wandering aimlessly over Sakota’s body, slip-sliding up his shirt, calloused palms roving lazily over Sakota’s back.

“Keep it,” says Sakota gruffly. “I like it.”

It is undeniably Koumei that spends the night with him in that bed. 

Cheap deodorant barely masking the smell of sweat, stale smoke and Koumei’s own particular scent, beard scratching up the side of his neck and shoulder and when they wake, Sakota finds strands of blonde hair on the pillowcase.

He likes the reminders.

*

Life is – to put it simply – good.

He goes back to Toarushi with a renewed spring in his step, and this goes noticed and remarked on by everyone – from his mother to the recruiters to Renji, who manages to fit in a dinner with him on a rainy Sunday night.

The entire Hanagumi knows about Sakota’s trip to Okinawa, partly because he had been spamming the group chat with pictures of Okinawan scenery and food.

None of them knows that he went to Okinawa with Koumei, outside of Tora, whom Sakota has sworn to silence on pain of death.

But the first thing that Renji asks, after listening to Sakota’s ranting about how _great_ Nishihama Beach is, is - “Who did you go with?”

“Oh.” He stops. Pauses. Sakota doesn’t _lie_. Not to a brother who had asked a direct question. “How did you know I went with someone?”

“The trip looks too well planned-out,” says Renji matter-of-factly. “You’re not that good at planning, sorry. So someone else did it up. Who did you go with?”

Renji waits patiently. That’s Renji for you. Waiting patiently, letting the silence coagulate into something extremely uncomfortable – to the point where one feels the urge to fill it with random sentences – is his specialty.

“You might not know him…” Sakota fiddles with the napkin.

“Really now.” Renji’s tone is dry as a desert.

“Oh, fine. I went with Koumei.”

Renji pauses, his spoon of soup halfway to his mouth. “Okay.”

Sakota throws his napkin down on the table. “Yep. Judge me all you want.”

Renji slurps his soup down. “He’s a really good planner.”

“Yeah,” Sakota mutters, slightly mollified. “He is.”

For a few minutes, they eat in silence, focused on their food. He feels Renji’s curious, assessing gaze on him, and Sakota finally says, “ _What._ ”

“Did you know,” Renji chooses to answer a question with a question. “That Amachi is with Sera now?”

For a moment, Sakota is unable to comprehend what Renji has just said. And then it clicks into place.

“Koumei’s Amachi? _Your_ Sera?”

“Yeah,” says Renji, dipping gyoza into soy sauce. “They’re not hiding it anymore." He stares at Sakota. “Uh. Haven’t you noticed that Amachi is popping up a lot more on Sera’s timeline?”

“I… no? Oh. Oh shit, damn.” He could wave it off by saying that his entire head is full of Koumei nowadays – but –

Sakota puts his beer down and picks up his phone. Renji is right. Amachi makes an appearance in nearly all of Sera’s social media posts. They’ve been to fucking _Tokyo_ to eat sushi.

Renji looks keenly at Sakota. “Things sure do change when we grow up, huh?”

Sakota does not meet his gaze. “Yeah. They sure do.”

*

When they leave the diner, the sun had long set, and there is a distinctly drunken wobble to Renji’s steps.

This late at night, the buses have stopped running. Luckily, the diner is close enough to the Umehoshi House, and Renji had already called ahead to let Mary-nee know that they would be staying over.

On the way, they smoke and talk – little nothings of their daily lives.

When they round the corner to Umehoshi house’s street, Renji says, “I just want to let you know, I’m your brother.”

“Okay,” says Sakota slowly. “I don’t -”

“I mean it, I’m your brother.” Renji stubs his cigarette out on his boot, and throws it into the gutter. “I will always be your brother.”

Above them, the moon is full and pale. There is a light on in the Umehoshi house, Mary-nee is probably waiting for them.

Sakota looks down at his feet. There is shame in his chest, something of fury at any doubt he once had, something of joy – and he says, “Thank you.”

*

He likes Koumei. Sure, he isn’t the cute girl that Sakota had pictured himself with when he was in middle school. Koumei is almost as tall as he is, he swears and he smokes and he is way too vain for a nineteen year old man. But when he visits Sakota, he buys karaage for Sakota from his favourite street stall, and sometimes – when they are in bed together, Koumei sticks his face into Sakota’s neck and rubs up against him like a fucking street cat.

It’s adorable, that’s what it is.

*

And time passes by.

Summer slips into autumn, autumn slips into winter.

Hana somehow manages to get his hands on a phone. The first person he calls is Tora and Tora immediately adds him to the group chat they have going on.

[10:11 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: HELLO EVERYBODY [insert blurry photo of a forested path with a thumb covering the top half of the picture]

[10:11 AM, 1/12/2019] toratoratora!: HANAAAAA [gif of clapping bunny]

[10:11 AM, 1/12/2019] renjiing: Welcome to civilisation.

[10:12 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: THANKS RENJI AND TORA

[10:13 AM, 1/12/2019] vroom vroom: hey man

[10:13 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: I’M COMING BACK IN JANUARY

[10:13 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: TO TOARUSHI THAT IS

[10:13 AM, 1/12/2019] toratoratora!: [gif of OMG in bright, flashing colours]

[10:14 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: LET’S MEET UP

[10:14 AM, 1/12/2019] kishidinosaur: hell yeah when

[10:14 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: ARE YOU GUYS FREE ON WEEKENDS

[10:15 AM, 1/12/2019] toratoratora: Fuck yes!!!

[10:15 AM, 1/12/2019] kishidinosaur: o yeah im gonna bring a friend along by the way

[10:15 AM, 1/12/2019] Tsukishima Hana: WHO??? DO WE KNOW HIM???

Sakota pauses, hovers his thumbs over the keyboard. Beside him, Koumei is snoring, soft, little wheezing sounds.

[10:15 AM, 1/12/2019] kishidinosaur: yeah it’s koumei

Immediately, the phone lights up with a barrage of messages. Renji and Tora’s names are conspicuously absent.

Grinning to himself, Sakota puts the phone aside and snuggled back into the sheets, nuzzling back up against Koumei.

**Author's Note:**

> i legit went to google what to do in okinawa and imma say akajima looks gorgeous  
> i wanna go there after writing this fic 
> 
> also this is one of my notes for this fic -and i hope the tone of it comes through:  
> "the tone of this shld be still quiet and gentle and (with a tinge of grief) of growing up and letting times pass and feeling the years pile on"
> 
> i think one of my favourite things about the series is that takahashi hiroshi shows the dudes moving on with life  
> this sounds kind of dumb but whenever i read worst i remember life back then  
> things were really so much simpler and happier then  
> the only things i worried about was buying manga and eating and playing dumb pc games  
> ah, i don't know.  
> it just brings back memories- or really, not so much memories as the sensation of- that everything will be okay, y'know?


End file.
